


The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

by ereshai



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anniversary, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Feels, Flashbacks, Food, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-06 06:44:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5406959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ereshai/pseuds/ereshai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Feelstide 2015 Prompt #32 - Christmas is actually Clint and Phil's anniversary - they got together during/post an undercover mission over Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to icywind/redsector-a for the beta read. Together, we tried to wrestle my comma and semi-colon obsession into submission. 
> 
> This started out as a silly thing and then the feels crept in. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays.

Clint was in the kitchen spreading peanut butter on several slices of bread when Tony wandered in.

“Don’t fill up, birdbrain. Pepper arranged a fancy Christmas feast for those of us staying at the Tower,” he said.

“Phil and I might stop in to say hi, but we’ve got our own plans for today,” Clint told him as he put thin round slices of apple on the peanut buttery bread.

“I thought you were staying because you didn’t have other plans.” Tony lifted the lid on the pot simmering on the stovetop. “Is this tomato sauce?”

“Yeah,” Clint answered absently. “Well, we do have other plans - we’re staying on our floor today with a big ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the door. Oh, do you have any Ritz crackers?” he asked as he opened and closed several cupboards.

“JARVIS, do we have any Ritz crackers? Why didn’t you ask J in the first place?”

“Because you were standing right there?”

“Why would I know that? This isn’t my kitchen. Well, technically it is, but it isn’t. You and Agent can shack up any time. Why Christmas?”

“If I may interrupt, sirs,” JARVIS said. “Mr. Barton, you will find what you are looking for three cupboards to your left.”

“Thanks, J.” Clint found the crackers and arranged them on a plate with dried apricots.

“I bet there’s cheese around here. Some pretty fancy stuff, too, if I know my own taste. Which I do.”

“No, thanks. I’ve got what I need.” Clint grabbed a bowl and poured the tomato sauce into it.

“So, why Christmas? You and Phil?” he added when Clint looked confused.

“It’s our anniversary.”

**

**Dec 24 & 25, 20-- (classified)**

Coulson unlocked his door and entered his apartment, leaving the door open for Clint. Clint kicked the wall next to the door, knocking off the bits of snow still clinging to his boots, and followed him in. It was dark, the dim light coming through the window doing little to relieve the gloom. A gust of wind howled past.

“Thanks for letting me stay here tonight, Coulson,” Clint said with a shudder as a droplet of melted snow trickled beneath his collar. He tugged his hat off of his head and stuffed it in his coat pocket.

Coulson gave him a ‘don’t be an idiot’ look and dropped his gear on the floor. “You can leave your boots by the door and hang your coat on one of the dining room chairs to dry.”

Clint put his bag by Coulson’s and unlaced his boots. The laces were wet and his fingers were cold and stiff, but he eventually managed to get them off. After disposing of his outerwear as Coulson had indicated, he stood awkwardly by the dining room table, unsure if he should offer to help Coulson put away his stuff or just sit on the couch and pretend he was an invited guest. Although technically Coulson had invited him - the weather was shit and it wasn’t worth Clint’s life to try to make it back to HQ and his Spartan quarters - this wasn’t a planned visit, and he had no idea how to behave.

“We aren’t going anywhere tonight and I don’t have much food,” Coulson said apologetically. Considering they had just gotten back from a three-month overseas op, Clint wasn’t surprised the cupboards were bare.  “There’s a loaf of bread in the freezer that might not be too freezer-burned, and a jar of peanut butter and a jar of tomato sauce in the cupboard. Peanut butter sandwiches?”

Before Clint could tell Coulson not to go to any trouble, his stomach gurgled. “Um, I might have something in my bag?” He definitely had food in his bag. “We could share?”

Funny how working with Coulson was so much easier than just trying to talk to him like a normal person. Put a bow in his hands and a bad guy in front of him and he was all confidence, throwing out snark and opinions left and right. Put him in Coulson’s living room and he was Superman in the presence of kryptonite. They were friends, dammit. Being attracted to him shouldn’t be this hard to deal with.

“What do you have?” Coulson asked with a smile.

Clint tore his gaze away from Coulson’s face and went to his bag. He always carried extra food when traveling - just in case - but he was running low this trip. He pulled out the apple he’d grabbed as they were leaving the safe house, a bag of dried apricots, and a sleeve of Ritz crackers. “It’s not much.”

“It’s fine. It’ll certainly be an interesting meal. How do you feel about peanut butter and apple sandwiches?”

“Sounds good to me,” Clint said. He’d eaten stranger combinations - this one was practically normal.

Coulson thawed the bread in the microwave while Clint sliced the apples. The crackers were dumped onto a serving plate along with the apricots. Even with sandwiches, it was going to be meager fare.

Coulson seemed to agree. “Why don’t I just heat the tomato sauce, and we can dip the crackers in it?”

Clint made the sandwiches while Coulson poured the sauce into a pot and set it on the stovetop. Without being asked, Clint went out to the living room with the plates and napkins. This meal didn’t feel like one they should eat at a table, so he shoved the coffee table out of the way and took a couple of cushions from the couch, setting them against the front of it so they had something to lean on during their floor picnic.

Coulson came out with everything on a serving tray - who even had those anymore? He set it down between the two cushions and sat down.  Clint hovered awkwardly.

“Want me to get something to drink?” he asked after a moment.

Coulson looked at the food. “Yes, please. I completely forgot.”

Their drink options were severely limited - Clint came back with a couple of glasses of ice water in less than a minute. He handed Coulson a glass and then sat down and settled against the unoccupied cushion.

“I thought about grilling the sandwiches, but I don’t have any butter,” Coulson said as he put a couple of sandwiches on his plate, along with a handful of the apricots.

“Maybe next time,” Clint said, and then kicked himself mentally. Next time? What were the odds of something like this happening again? He shoved a sandwich in his mouth.

“Sure.” Coulson said it like it was no big deal. Maybe to him it wasn’t; Clint was the one with the crush, after all. “You mind?” Coulson held up the tv remote.

“Go ahead,” Clint said around his mouthful. 

“I never watch any of my favorite shows when I’m on an extended op,” Coulson said as he sorted through his backlog of episodes. “Watching them when I get back helps me get back into a normal frame of mind.”

Clint nodded. He swallowed his bite and dipped a cracker in the tomato sauce - it was warm and a little spicy. He ate a couple more before his mouth started spilling all sorts of inane bullshit about the things he did to unwind after missions. He doubted Coulson was interested.

They ate quietly, too intent on their meal to bother with conversation. _Supernanny_ filled the silence and made it less awkward, at least for Clint. When he was finished, he put his plate on the floor and slid down a little, angling his upper body on the cushion. His eyes got heavy and he let them close. It had been a long three months; he was just relieved he was finally able to relax.

Clint woke briefly. It was dark; the tv was off and the remnants of the food had been cleared away. Coulson was asleep beside him; they were both covered with a light blanket. Clint went back to sleep.

Dim light was glowing through the window when he woke again. Coulson was gone and Clint could smell coffee brewing from the kitchen. Next to him, resting on the couch cushion Coulson had been using, was a small Christmas present, complete with a shiny red bow and a gift tag that said _Clint_.

Clint got up and wandered into the kitchen, the present in his hand. Coulson was leaning against the counter, waiting for the coffee pot to finish its job.

“Good morning,” he said when he saw Clint.

“Hey.” Clint waved the hand holding the present at him. “You didn’t have to, sir.”

“I wanted to. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” Clint murmured. He had been trying to ignore the looming holiday and failing, and now he really couldn’t pretend he didn’t know what day it was. He set the present down on the counter and fiddled with the bow as he stared at it. “Be right back,” he said abruptly, and stalked out of the kitchen. His bag was sitting where he’d left it last night.

At the bottom, underneath his dirty laundry, was the present he’d gotten for Coulson. It wasn’t wrapped as neatly - and certainly not with Christmas-themed wrapping paper - and it didn’t have a bow, but it would have to do. Clint had been debating whether or not he should even give it to Coulson, but a Christmas present deserved a gift in return.

“Here,” Clint said when he got back to the kitchen. He held the gift out in Coulson’s general direction and avoided eye contact.

“Thank you, Ba- Clint.” Coulson started tearing the paper, crumpling the pieces and letting them fall to the floor. “It’s Christmas,” he said when he caught Clint goggling at him.

“You haven’t even had your coffee,” Clint blurted.

Coulson smiled. “Aren’t you going to open yours?” he asked as he let the last of his paper drop.

Clint picked up his present and took the bow off, sticking it to his chest like he used to when he was really small. He carefully pried the tape off the paper at one end, and then ran a finger under the loosened seam to free the rest. He hadn’t gotten very far when heard Coulson gasp.

“Where did you find this?” In his hands were two trading cards. One featured Captain America punching a Nazi; not very rare and the quality wasn’t great. Clint knew Coulson already had a couple in better condition. It was the other card that had Coulson’s attention - Captain America and Bucky Barnes. Bucky was front and center, with Cap looking nobly off into the distance behind him. Even with the creased corner and damage to the edges, it was worth far more than Clint had paid for it.

“There was a pawn shop. The guy didn’t know what he had, so I got ‘em for a good price.” Everyone knew about Coulson’s Captain America thing. Any of his friends would have snagged those cards for him if they’d come across them. Coulson didn’t have to know that Clint always checked the local shops for trading cards, just on the off-chance he might find something.

“This is amazing. Thank you.” Coulson’s smile made Clint feel all warm inside, which could be a friend thing, but he couldn’t figure out what he was feeling at the moment.

Clint finished unwrapping his present - it was a small white box with no markings. He lifted the lid and found a silver medallion nestled on a bed of cotton. It showed a man holding a drawn bow with the words ‘Saint Sebastian Pray For Us’ around the edge. There was no chain.

“Saint Sebastian is the patron saint of-,” Coulson began quietly.

“-of archers. Yeah.” Clint stared down at it. How had Coulson known?

“I know you aren’t particularly religious, but I thought maybe…” Coulson’s voice trailed off and he looked suddenly uncomfortable.

“For luck,” Clint said roughly and cleared his throat. “I had one of these once. In the circus. It was for luck.” It had been given to him by the bearded lady, who had looked after him when Barney was off doing other things.

“I thought you could keep it with your gear.”

“Thanks.” Clint looked up and met Coulson’s eyes. “Really. Thank you.”

Coulson stepped closer and reached out to touch the bow on Clint’s chest. “I’m glad you like it.”

“It’s great.” Clint’s voice was still hoarse. Coulson stood there smiling at him, and Clint gave in to a sudden urge and wrapped him in a big hug.

Coulson returned it immediately. Clint turned his head a little and breathed in the scent of his skin. Shit. Friends probably didn’t do that sort of thing. Coulson pulled back a little, and Clint tried to back away, but Coulson held on.

“May I kiss you, Clint?” He looked hopeful and expectant.

Clint was stunned. “Yes,” he said quickly, before he woke up or Coulson changed his mind.

Phil - he was Phil now, no matter what happened after today - kissed him gently. His lips were soft and warm. Clint leaned into him; he wanted the kiss to last forever, or at least long enough to imprint itself in his memory forever.

When they finally broke away from each other, Phil was smiling again and Clint couldn’t help the huge grin that spread across his face.

“Merry Christmas, Clint,” Phil whispered.

“Merry Christmas, Phil,” he whispered back.


End file.
